“He’s tailing you, probably to make sure you’re heeding his warning to stay away from the FBI. You lead him out to the park, he sees you meeting your own husband. What else could it possibly look like? He probably thought Peter called you out here to get the two of you away from the FBI and everybody else-so he could confess in total privacy, no eavesdroppers. He couldn’t just stand by and let Peter tell you who he hired. So he wastes him.”
“How would he have heard what we were saying?”
“He didn’t have to hear a thing. One look at your face probably told him you weren’t out here bird watching.”
Allison shivered, recalling Peter’s words. “I still don’t totally understand it. He said he could help me find Emily. Why would he have taken my four-month-old daughter?”
“As I recall, you said he fell in love with you pretty quick, and you weren’t exactly responding the way he wanted. I mean, adopting a baby and telling a guy you’re not interested in marriage doesn’t give him much encouragement.”
“Yeah, but steal my daughter?”
“Maybe his plan was supposed to be just like the Kristen Howe thing. He hired somebody to take Emily away for a few days. Just long enough for him to step forward like a hero and offer a reward with his own money. All the courageous things that eventually made you fall in love with him.”
“Then why didn’t he give Emily back to me?”
“Maybe he got to like things the way they were. A strong, beautiful woman who’s been reduced to a basket case. She needs him, depends on him, can’t get through the day without him. Bringing Emily back would have destroyed all that.”
She grimaced. “That’s sick.”
“It’s psychopathic. But it happens every day. Some men beat their wives. Some men strangle prostitutes. Some men burn their girlfriend’s high school yearbook and photo albums. Domination and control. It’s what drives them.”
Allison massaged her throbbing temple.
Harley said, “If you look back at your relationship with Peter, I’ll bet he was happiest and most loving when you needed him. When you had a crisis. When things were tough at work. When someone close to you was sick or dying.”
“When I was losing an election,” she added.
Their eyes met. Each could tell the other was suddenly thinking of Kristen Howe. Allison’s phone rang in her purse, breaking the silence. Harley nodded. Allison answered.
“Hello.”
The response was cool, cocky. “Did you know that in the last eight years only a hundred and nineteen infants under the age of six months have been abducted in the United States?”
“What do you want?”
“Did you know that of those abductions, a hundred and ten were recovered? Most within a few days.”
Allison’s hand shook. She said nothing.
“Your Emily was one of the nine they never found. Nine. Have you done the math on this, Allison? Nine babies in the whole United States in eight years. Over four million births each year. What are the odds of being on the short end of that stick? But, of course, you’re used to beating the odds, aren’t you? How many women have been attorney general? How many women have run for president?”
“What’s your point, jerk?”
“My point?” he scoffed. “I’d say fate has found you, Ms. Leahy. For better. And for worse. See you at the hotel. Nine o’clock. Or both kids are dead.”
The line clicked.
55
Tony Delgado was moving as fast as he could, cursing his Uncle Vince for leaving him to do the grunt work. The temperature inside the garage was no more than fifty degrees, but sweat had soaked through his shirt at the armpits. In half an hour, he had completely loaded the van through the double rear doors. He shoved the last of the plastic five-gallon buckets into the cargo hold, then stood back to admire his work from behind the van. Fifty buckets in all, forty pounds apiece. They were stacked four-high, floor-to-ceiling, along each side of the van. The center was open from front to back, like a long narrow aisle.
He turned and lifted a large black trunk. It was light, empty. He slid it into the open space and opened it, like a casket.
“Good job, Tony boy,” he told himself.
He walked back into the house, stopping at the kitchen sink for a glass of water, then continuing to the back bedroom. The door was closed, but he opened it without knocking.
Kristen Howe was sitting on the floor, dressed and ready to go. She was blindfolded. Her mouth was taped. Her hands and feet were bound. Her body stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Tony unlocked the handcuffs that secured her to the bedpost. “Time to go,” he said. “Get up.”
She rose slowly, obediently. He untied her feet, then faced her toward the door. “Walk,” he said.
She took small steps. Her world was black from the blindfold, making each step a leap of faith. She could feel her captor’s hand on her shoulder, leading her across the room and down the hall. She heard a door open. Colder air hit her face. A step down. The floor now felt like cement. The garage?
“Be still,” he said.
She cringed as he lifted her off the ground.
“In you go,” he said. He laid her in the trunk long ways, front to back. He checked her blindfold and the tape on her mouth. He readjusted the plastic cuffs on her hands and bound her ankles. All secure. He slid the trunk forward as far as possible, leaving a small space in the back by the doors. Finally he loaded the last bit of cargo into the van-a carpet cleaning machine, hoses, and a big canvas tarp.
The doors slammed shut. The sign on the back read, CAPITOL CITY CARPET CLEANERS.
He opened the driver’s door and jumped behind the wheel. The engine rumbled with a turn of the key. He turned around to check his cargo. The air holes on the sides seemed sufficient. She lay perfectly still, no trouble at all.
“You want to go home, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You want to be safe, right?”
She nodded once more.
“Then lay there on the floor like a good girl. Don’t twitch an inch. Don’t make a sound.” He lowered the lid and covered the trunk with the canvas tarp, glancing at the buckets stacked all around her. “And whatever you do,” he said with a smirk, “don’t light a match.”
By six o’clock, the media vans were streaming into Rock Creek Park for live on-the-scene reports. With SWAT personnel leaping from helicopters and speculation running wild on police band radio, the story was breaking fast.
Allison and Harley were still in the FBI van when the SWAT leader radioed with more bad news about the murdered stable manager. She felt a tinge of sadness for the old man, followed by anger and more than a little fear. It chilled her to think she had just talked to the old man’s killer. He’d sounded so calm and incredibly cool-utterly remorseless for the taking of another’s life.
Harley and Allison scurried beneath the rain from the van to an unmarked car. They were headed down Massachusetts Avenue before the media mob had even confirmed her involvement in the park.
“Where to?” she asked.
Harley slowed as they approached DuPont Circle. “We need some time to regroup before nine o’clock. I suggest we go to the field operations center we’ve set up for tonight. It’s just a block away from the hotel where you’re supposed to drop the ransom. The place still looks like a vacant retail outlet, so no one knows it’s there. Right now, it’s probably the one place in Washington you can visit without being noticed.”
“How are you going to get the ransom to me so I can deliver it?”
“It’s in a vault back at headquarters. I’ll have someone bring it to us once we get to the field operations center.”
She nodded.
Harley said, “It’s going to be difficult to keep this story quiet. You’ve got park rangers, metropolitan police, the medical examiner’s office, FBI. Lots of opportunities for leaks. I’m sure the press already knows two people are dead. Within the hour they�
�ll know one of them’s your husband-no matter how tight we try to screw on the lid.”
“I didn’t expect to keep it quiet.”
“What are your expectations?”
“I expect to find Emily. And to get Kristen Howe home safely.”
He nodded. “I was thinking about that last phone call. Kind of interesting that after all that just happened in the park, the kidnapper still wants you to stick to the plan and go to the hotel.”
“What do you mean, ‘interesting’?”
“It just leads me to believe that he must have a pretty elaborate plan. No matter what happens, he won’t change the venue. You have to meet him at the Hyatt at nine o’clock.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Cuts both ways. On the one hand, it gives us time to check things out. We have agents posed as hotel employees. They’ve been discreetly inspecting the hotel and surrounding area, making sure all is secure. No bombs, booby traps, what have you. On the other hand-well, he must have some reason for picking that particular place.”
“Are you trying to tell me yet again that this is too dangerous for me?”
He stopped the car at the traffic light, glancing her way. “He did authorize you to wear a disguise, Allison. That makes it easier for us to use a double, if you want.”
She shook her head. “Now, more than ever, this is my responsibility. Even if it’s true that Peter told the kidnappers to return Kristen unharmed, the fact remains that he hired them. It’s like that example they teach you in law school-you can’t fire a bazooka into a crowd and say, sorry, folks, but I didn’t really intend to hurt anybody.”
He shook his head, not quite comprehending. “So you feel compelled to risk your life for Kristen Howe because it turns out your husband is a psychopath?”
“Partly,” she said. “But mostly because Emily is still my daughter.”
The traffic light changed. Harley hit the gas. “You know, Allison, only two people heard Peter’s confession. You and me. The media may find out your husband was killed. But I don’t see any reason for them to know your husband was behind the kidnapping. I mean, we’ll have to file a report. But that doesn’t have to be tonight.”
“Thank you. But there is one other person who is going to hear it tonight.”
“Who?”
“Tanya Howe,” she said, staring at the raindrops on the windshield. “It’s time I told her who kidnapped her daughter.”
56
General Howe reclined in his leather seat the moment the pilot switched off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign. The mood was festive among his staff in the back of the campaign jet, but Howe was in his restful mode. He switched off his reading light and glanced out the window to enjoy the view. Washington was in lights, beautiful from above. Looking down from the sky made him feel almost godlike. In just a few hours, he’d own this town.
The air-telephone rang in the seat beside him. He answered quickly. It was his strategist.
“This is big,” said LaBelle.
He sipped his Dewars and water. “What do you got, Buck?”
“It’s just hitting the wires now. Apparently, Leahy had another go-around with the kidnapper around five o’clock this evening. This time at Rock Creek Park.”
He stiffened in his seat. “What the hell is going on with that woman?”
“Thankfully, another disaster. Kidnapper got away. Some old man who runs the equestrian center got whacked. Another guy is dead. It may be Allison’s husband.”
“Her husband?”
“Yes. No confirmation yet, but that’s the rumor.”
“That’s terrible,” said the general.
“No shit. It could swing the sympathy factor right back in her favor.”
Howe bristled. The way LaBelle had so quickly reduced his opponent’s loss to political terms had taken him aback-but only for a moment. “What can we do, Buck?”
“Now more than ever we have to get you on television to reverse your position on the payment of the ransom. We have to keep people thinking about your granddaughter. Sure, what happened to Allison’s husband is bad. But let’s keep reminding them that a little girl’s life is still at stake.”
“I told you I would do that just as soon as you found O’Brien. It makes me nervous that the FBI is looking for him.”
“Sir, I understand that. And I don’t know why the FBI is looking for him. But nobody can find him. My investigators tell me that Marine Patrol may have found his sailboat with some traces of blood on it. Could be foul play or even attempted suicide. I don’t know. All I do know is that O’Brien has nothing to do with your decision to pay a ransom.”
Howe lowered his voice so no one could overhear. “Damn it, Buck. We have to think about appearances here. Look at the series of events. First, O’Brien comes to us and tells us he slept with Allison Leahy. Then he flunks a lie detector test. Then he disappears. Now you’re telling me there’s blood on his sailboat. It’s starting to sound like somebody killed him.”
“Possible, I guess.”
“What if the people who killed him are the same people who kidnapped Kristen? What if all this comes out in a few weeks or months? What will the American people think if I suddenly say I’ve changed my mind one hundred and eighty degrees and now I am willing to pay these dirty bastards a million dollars?”
“I don’t know what they’ll think.”
His voice was shrill but still a whisper. “They’ll think I masterminded some idiotic Oliver Stone conspiracy, that’s what they’ll think. They’ll think the million dollars was last-minute hush money or a payoff. At least that’s the kind of nonsense those bastards over on Capitol Hill will lead them to believe. I don’t want my entire first term tied up in congressional hearings.”
“General, if you don’t make that speech tonight and offer to pay the ransom, you may not have a first term.”
The general paused and sipped his drink. “You honestly believe that, Buck?”
“I honestly do. You have to keep the sympathy factor in your camp, General. Because if it turns out that dead guy in the park really is Allison Leahy’s husband, I may just feel sorry enough to vote for her, myself.”
He sucked an ice cube, then crunched it in his teeth. “All right, damn it. I’ll give the speech.”
Time constraints made it impossible for Allison to sit down face-to-face with Tanya Howe and explain everything. It was only a twenty-minute car ride to the operations center, but Allison didn’t want to wait another minute before making the phone call. She recalled at least two prior occasions when Tanya should have been the first person she’d called, but Tanya had been forced to call her. She wasn’t going to be embarrassed like that again. Harley continued driving across the district as she placed the call on her encrypted cellular phone.
It took only a few minutes to deliver the news. Tanya had listened without interruption, without making a sound.
“Tanya?” she asked after several seconds of silence. “Are you okay?”
Tanya sat alone on the edge of her bed, staring at the photograph of Kristen on the nightstand. She blinked repeatedly, as if returning from a hypnotic state. The last thing she had expected to hear was that Allison Leahy’s husband was behind the kidnapping. “What am I supposed to say?”
“I know this can’t be much of a comfort, but I was probably even more surprised than you were.”
Her mouth quivered. “I guess I should respect you for telling me. But I’m not sure what I’m feeling.”
“You have every right to hate me,” said Allison.
“No. I don’t hate you. That would be like hating my mother because she’s married to my father.”
Her voice suddenly tightened. “Oh, my God. My father.”
“What about him?”
“I honestly thought he or one of his cronies was responsible for the kidnapping. The other night, I told him that if Kristen wasn’t back by the time the polls open, I’d go on television and tell people exactly what I thought.”
> “Hopefully, she will be back by then.”
“But he’s going to screw everything up. He’s scrambling, trying to get her back. My mother just told me he’s planning to go on television tonight to say he’ll pay the ransom. If the kidnappers hear that, who knows what they’ll do?”
Allison was calm but firm. “You have to stop him. For the next few hours, no one should say anything publicly about the kidnapping. Especially not anything about a ransom.”
“How do you expect me to get my father to shut up?”
“There must be something you can do.”
The response was slow in coming, but Allison could almost feel the energy flowing on the other end of the line.
“I can think of only one thing,” said Tanya.
“What?”
“That’s between me and my father.”
Allison paused, but after the pain Peter had caused her, she was in no position to second-guess. “Good luck, Tanya,” she said sincerely.
“Thank you,” she replied, then hung up the phone.
Tanya dug an address book from her purse, opened it to the right page, and laid it on the bedspread beside her. She opened the nightstand drawer. Loose change and costume jewelry were arranged neatly in little plastic organizers. A metal strongbox was in the back. She lifted one of the plastic organizers, exposing the key. She unlocked the strongbox. Inside was a Dictaphone. She removed it, closed the box and the drawer, then laid the Dictaphone on the nightstand beside the phone.
She checked the number in the address book one more time. She drew a deep breath, then dialed the number. On the third ring, she got an answer.
“Mr. LaBelle, please.” She winced at the response, then said, “I don’t care what he’s doing. Tell him it’s Tanya Howe, and he has one minute to get on the line. Or he loses the election.”
She waited, checking her watch. In twenty seconds, LaBelle was on the line with his mouth in high gear.
“Tanya, I’m well aware that we’re closing in on your deadline. Your father is doing everything possible to get Kristen back safely by tomorrow morning. In thirty minutes he’s calling a press conference to announce that he will pay the ransom. A million dollars. What more can he do?”
The Abduction Page 35
